Black Opium
by MaverickLover2
Summary: A leisurely trip to New Orleans seems like just the thing. Instead, it turns into a tale of misguided revenge and redemption. The question is, will Bart Maverick survive the ordeal?
1. A Glimpse pf Things to Come

Black Opium

Chapter 1 – A Glimpse of Things to Come

It had been a long, slow trip down to New Orleans; at least that was the first thought that crossed my mind as I rode into the city. I hadn't been in a hurry, after all – as soon as I got out of Memphis I'd settled in to taking my time. Part way by riverboat, part way by stagecoach, then the last leg of the journey on horseback. A lot had happened while in Tennessee, and I had things to think about.

Most of you know me by now. The name's Bart Maverick, and folks would tell you I'm a gambler by trade. That's not a strictly accurate description, but it's close enough. I've been a lot of other things, too, most recently I answered to the title 'Pinkerton Agent,' but that was only temporary. As is anything but poker, and playing poker was exactly what I'd come to New Orleans to do. That and collect a rather large debt that had been outstanding for quite a while from a fellow named Matthew Langford. What I didn't know was Matt considered that he had an even bigger debt to collect from me. One he'd been waiting on for a long, long time.

Not knowing any better, I checked into a hotel I'd frequented before in the French Quarter – Le Richelieu. It was luxurious but relatively cheap and had one of the better poker rooms around, known mostly to the local inhabitants. Once upon a time Matt frequented Le Richelieu's regularly, and I wondered if his habits had changed since I'd seen him last.

I'd been on horseback all day and decided a nap and a good meal were needed before I settled in for a night of poker. The meal took precedence, and when I left the hotel I ducked around the corner to a small café that I'd eaten in many times in the past. The food was just as good as it had always been, and I was delighted to find a favorite lady still waiting on customers. Once finished, I made my way back to my hotel room and was shocked to find a message waiting for me at the front desk. I took it back up to my room before opening it and was disquieted to see that it was from Matthew.

' _Think you could sneak into town without my knowing you were here? Think again. See you at poker tonight? Matt Langford'_

Quite a surprise, I must say. I'd made no contact with Matt, and no inquiries regarding him to anyone, and I wondered just how he knew I was in New Orleans. Not only that, but to have found me so quickly was truly perplexing. It was the first time I'd be surprised by him on this trip, but it certainly wouldn't be the last. Nevertheless, I settled down on top of the covers on the bed and soon drifted off to sleep.

It was somewhere around eight o'clock when I made my way down to the poker room, which was already full of men and smoke. I checked around the room as best I could but didn't see anyone familiar, much less Matt, so I found a table to my liking and sat in. Poker is poker – sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad, but it's always exciting – at least it is to me. The hands went quickly and I did well, and before I knew it we were the last table still playing. I checked my watch; it was almost five in the morning. I'd been here all night, and there'd been no sign of Matt. I finally won what turned out to be the last hand of the night and was gathering my winnings when I heard a familiar voice.

"No words of greeting for an old friend?"

I looked up and got my second shock of the last twenty-four hours. Standing on the other side of the poker table was someone that I'd seen at the tables on and off all night. The last time I spent time with Matthew he looked good; tired but good. The man in front of me was scarecrow thin. On more than one occasion I've been told I need to gain weight, that I was too thin for my own good, but this person made me look positively fat. His hair was lank and rapidly graying, and he had a persistent runny nose, as if in the midst of a severe cold. The hand he extended across the poker table was emaciated and bony. The only thing recognizable was the timber and tone of the words he'd spoken.

"Matthew?" I asked incredulously, and quickly shook his hand. His grip, once as robust and firm as Bret's, felt more like an old woman's.

"Where's that famous poker face?" he asked. "Try not to look so shocked."

"Sorry," I answered quickly. "You look so . . . different." I stood up then, and the man in front of me seemed to have shrunk several inches in height. Once taller than me, he was now decidedly shorter.

"Do I?" his question came back at me. "It's this damn cold. I've had it for months it seems like, and I just can't shake it. How are you, Bart? You look good."

"Uh, fine, Matt. I'm fine. Sorry I didn't say somethin' earlier. Payin' too much attention to the cards, as usual." I did my best to gather my wits about me and stop sounding like a fool. There had to be a reason for Matt's appearance, and it obviously wasn't a cold. If that's what he wanted me to believe, then that's what I would believe. For now.

"You're not ready for bed yet, are you? How about a walk and a smoke? I could use some fresh air."

"Sure. Sounds good to me," I told him, and followed him out of the poker room and across the hotel lobby to the front doors. I hurried to open a door for him; he didn't look like he was capable of doing it for himself.

"Thanks," he acknowledged, and we found ourselves outside. I pulled out a cigar, he did the same. I struck a match and lit first mine, then his, and couldn't help but ask, "Should you be smokin' with that cold you've got?"

"Doesn't seem to bother it. How long did it take you to get here from Memphis?"

I hadn't said a thing about Memphis, but I held onto my poker face and answered him casually, "Almost three weeks. I wasn't in any hurry. How'd you know I was in Memphis?"

He gave a little laugh then, and it almost sounded like a cackle. "You'd be surprised what I know about you, Pinkerton man."

Another unexpected jolt. I forced a laugh. "Ain't that somethin'? Never ceases to amaze me, what you'll let yourself get sucked into to help a beautiful woman."

"Ginny Malone, you mean. I thought she was more or less your brother's girl."

I nodded to cover my surprise. "She is. But she's still a good friend. Say, you been havin' me followed, or what? You seem to know an awful lot about what I been up to."

"I'm still in your debt, remember? I've been lookin' for you for quite a while. It's past time that you got what was owed to you."

Something about the way he said that put me off, but I did my best to ignore the implications and shrugged. "I know you're good for it, Matthew. There was never any doubt about that."

"Still, it's been botherin' me for a while. I'll feel better when I pay you everything I owe you."

I hoped that wasn't as ominous as it sounded. Something about this whole encounter was beginning to feel like the beginning of an unwelcome adventure, rather than simply reuniting with an old friend. "Any interest in breakfast?" I finally asked. My God, the man could use a good meal.

He shook his head. "No appetite since this thing started. Besides, I have a previous commitment. How about tomorrow?"

"Sure," I answered, "that sounds like a fine idea. You be at the poker room tonight?"

"I will. After ten o'clock. I'll see you there." He paused, and then asked quietly, "Just like old times, 'eh, Bart?" Matthew headed off down the boardwalk and I stood there, not quite sure just who or what my old poker friend had turned into. His gait was more a shuffle than a walk, and I couldn't help but wonder just exactly what was going on. It would be a long time before I would finally come to know the complexity of his deception.


	2. The Rescue

Chapter 2 – The Rescue

In spite of Matt's assurance that he would be at the poker room that night, he didn't show. I chalked it up to his 'previous commitment' of the morning and sat down for a night courting one of the ladies I loved.

Another day passed, and I tried the poker room one more time. Still no Matthew. As my game was breaking up for the night, one of the men I'd been playing against stopped to talk to me. "You a friend of Langford's?"

"You could say that. You have any idea where he might be?"

The man nodded. "Try Weng-Fai Wong's over on Hop Alley. That's his home away from home."

"Opium Den?" I asked, although the answer was obvious.

"Whatta you think?"

The only experience I'd ever had with opium was the encounter in Natchez with one of the Black Silk Ladies. I didn't want any part of it, and I stayed as far away from it as I could. I knew virtually nothing about opium addicts, and that's the way I preferred to keep it. Still, if Matt was addicted . . . it would certainly explain his altered appearance. And I had to wonder – what had happened to cause his descent into his own personal hell?

I left the hotel and stood outside, smoking a cigar and thinking. Should I take a chance and go looking for the man I had just claimed as my friend? What would I do if I found him? And what if I didn't? Unable to make a decision, I finished my cigar and went back inside. I'd just quit playing detective in Memphis; my commitment to uncovering the truth about Langford could wait one more night. I had plans for the next day.

XXXXXXXX

When I was in New Orleans looking for Dalton Dupree, a.k.a. George Henry, I'd made the acquaintance of a delightful lady named Minnie Lavolier. Old enough to be my grandmother, we'd nonetheless become fast friends. I'd promised Minnie that the next time I was in New Orleans I would come visit, and I intended to keep that promise.

Her house wasn't that far away, and I decided to walk. I'd done a lot of that in Memphis and I kind of missed it, so I set off to find Carondelet Street. I was too far south, so I headed north until I got to St. Ann Avenue. Down the block and up the steps, then a firm knock on the door. Within a minute it was opened by the enchanting lady who had been so helpful with my search for Dalton's mother.

"Well, my stars!" she exclaimed. "If it isn't my gambler beau! Come in, Bart, you're just in time for coffee!" She held the door wide, and I reached down and kissed her on the cheek.

"Miss Minnie, you're lookin' fine. How've you been?" I asked as I escorted her into the parlor. She'd taken me by the hand and kept a tight grip on me as we walked. True to her word, she led me to the settee and small table next to it, where a coffee pot and two empty cups waited. "Were you expectin' someone?"

She nodded as she poured. "I was hoping, but I didn't know it would be you. What a wonderful surprise! Did you come all the way from Texas just to visit me?"

"Actually, I came from Memphis this time. But I had to come see you while I was here. How are you?"

Minnie giggled, just like she had when we first met. "I couldn't be better. Other than a little rheumatism, I'm doing just fine. And who are you looking for this time, young man?"

She had a good memory. "Just you, Miss Minnie. I'm actually in New Orleans to play poker. Well . . . mostly to play poker."

"Uh, huh. Who are you after?"

So I told her about Matt Langford; everything but what I'd learned the night before, about Weng-Fai Wong's. Minnie knew a lot more about that than I expected her to.

"Sounds like he's smoking opium, Bart. You should look over on Hop Alley." I must have given her a quizzical look, because she explained. "Three doors down the street, at Sadie Bordelon's house. Her son's never been right since he came back from the war. He started smoking that stuff, and Hop Alley is where he goes." She shook her head. "It's a crying shame. Poor Sadie can't take much more. From the looks of him, neither can her boy."

I changed the subject then; I'd already gotten Minnie more involved in the Matthew Langford problem than I'd intended to. It wouldn't be the last time we'd discuss his situation, though, or the havoc he came to cause.

I spent the afternoon with Minnie Lavolier and finally arranged to have supper with her later in the week. She looked wistful when I left; maybe my kissing her hand made her nostalgic for days gone by. I took a shortcut back to the hotel and arrived with just enough time to eat an early meal. There was another message waiting for me, this one from my brother. _'Staying in Memphis an extra week, enjoying all the things Ginny and I didn't get to do before. We'll see you sometime in August. Bret.'_

It was the last sentence that triggered my curiosity. _'_ _We'll_ _see you sometime in August.'_ Wonder how Ginny got talked into the trip to New Orleans? Those two were getting closer and closer all the time, and I was beginning to get the feeling that Bret might be changing his mind about marriage.

I needed something different after three nights downstairs and went off in search of one of my old haunts. The Chateau St. John looked much the same as it had the last time I was there, with one big exception. They had added saloon girls to their employee roster, all dressed in brightly colored silk, satin, and feathers. I must admit it was quite a change from the quietly elegant atmosphere that had always existed inside the Chateau, and one that I found a bit distracting. Not that I objected to beautiful women; that I would never do. But their presence seemed to alter everything, including the clientele, and not in a good way. I decided to stay and found a game that looked interesting.

I'd been playing for about an hour when it became apparent there was a disagreement among two of the players at another table. The voices, which had started out at a reasonable level, rose to a fever pitch and finally erupted in gunfire. Within a few minutes the police had arrived and herded almost everyone not directly involved out into the street, and that's when I saw him. Matt Langford, barely able to stand on his own two feet, was shoved out the door several feet ahead of me. By the time I was outside Matt was face down on the boardwalk, and I struggled to get him back upright. He looked at me in confusion, and it took a minute for recognition to kick in.

"Bart, old man! You come to rescue me?" His speech was disjointed and slurred, and his eyes were giant saucers that could barely focus. I got my arms around his chest and practically dragged him away from the saloon entrance. I could smell whiskey on his breath, but he was way more than just drunk.

"Where've you been for the past two days, Matt?" I had the audacity to ask.

"Hmpf?" was the only answer I got. Finally I figured out it was easier to throw him over my shoulder and carry him, and that's what I did. Straight back to my hotel room, where I deposited him in what should have been my bed. His hat I laid on the floor, and his gun belt soon followed. Matt's eyes were closed, but I have no idea if he was asleep or passed out. He wore the same clothes he had on the last time I saw him, and they'd obviously been slept in. He had an odor about him that I couldn't quite identify, and looked like he hadn't bathed in days. This was not the same man I'd won money from all those months ago.

Once again I was left to wonder what had happened to cause such a drastic change in such a short period of time. I suppose at some point I would have to ask him point blank, but that was a question I wasn't looking forward to. Fortunately there was a settee in the room, big enough for me to sleep on, and that's where I found myself. I couldn't complain; after all, I'd brought Matt here. I'd just have to wait and see what consciousness would bring.


	3. Old Friends

Chapter 3 – Old Friends

Matt slept or remained unconscious the rest of the night. I woke up a little after sunrise and found him in the same position I'd left him in. I assumed I could leave him alone for a few minutes and went downstairs to get some coffee. By the time I got back upstairs his eyes were open.

"Where am I?" he mumbled through almost clenched teeth.

"You're in my room, Matt. Do you remember anything about last night?"

The look I got was one of pure confusion. "Last night?"

"That's right. At the Chateau St. John?"

It took him a minute to answer. "No."

"How about Weng-Fai Wong's?"

A lopsided grin covered his face. "Weng-Fai. Love that man."

That statement told me almost everything but why. I didn't think getting that question answered would be so easy. "Where you livin', Matt? Still at your Pa's house?" His father had died years ago, in a gentleman's duel, so it was told, but Matt lived in the house most of the time.

"Oui."

"Can you sit up?" He tried but failed, and I had to help get him upright in the bed. When we'd accomplished that I asked the next question. "How about standin'?" We were less successful at that, and it took more than a few minutes to get him on his feet.

"Where to now?" he mumbled again, but I'm not sure he heard the answer I gave him.

"Your Pa's."

I had to help hold Matt upright to get him out of the room and down the stairs. Once we got outside I hailed a carriage and gave them the address. It took about fifteen minutes to get there, and Matt's eyes were closed again during the whole trip. I'd only been to the house once before, but it seemed to have fallen into the same state of disrepair that plagued its owner. I paid the carriage driver and got Matt out and into the house. The door was unlocked; there was little furniture left in the place. What remained was full of dust and grime.

The only reason I didn't gasp when I saw the inside was that I'd already seen the outside. There were two chairs by the fireplace that looked reasonably clean; I sat Matthew in one and wandered out into what was left of the kitchen and pantry. It took a while, but I got a fire started in the stove and found a coffee pot that looked like it had been used recently; I was even lucky enough to find some coffee. Cups were harder to come by, and the coffee was made by the time I located two and got them washed.

I set a full one on the floor next to the empty chair and tried to get Matt to take the other one. He looked at me like I was crazy and refused. "You have to drink this, Matt," I kept telling him over and over, and he kept refusing. Finally it dawned on me. "Weng-Fai says you have to drink it." That was the end of the refusal, and he accepted the cup of coffee. I was worn out by the time I sat down to drink mine.

When Langford was finished with his coffee I relieved him of his cup and he promptly closed his eyes again. I deposited the cup in the kitchen and wandered into what had at one time been a bedroom. This must be where Matt was sleeping, when he bothered to come back to the house at all. There was little in the room beyond the bed.

There was still a closet full of clothes, but from the look of the man in the living room, he had ceased to care about his appearance. I couldn't imagine Matt with that attitude, any more than I could imagine Bret behaving the same way. There was a crashing sound in the front room and I hurried back in, just in time to find Matt lying on the floor. That's when I determined the safest place for him would probably be the bed.

Once again I picked him up and carried him – to the bed, this time. He might as well sleep in the clothes he had on; they were already filthy. So were mine, at this point. What should I do now? I had no desire to stay here, and I certainly couldn't leave him by himself. I couldn't begin to guess how much longer he would be under the continued influence of what was obviously an opium induced stupor. With nothing better to do, I wandered back out into the front room and took a good look around. Matt's father, James Matthew Langford, still presided over the fireplace in a large, faded portrait. It was one of the few things that didn't look any worse than the last time I saw it.

There was an old frame on the mantel, an object that hadn't been there the only other time I'd been inside the house. There was something vaguely familiar about the whole thing. I couldn't quite make out what it was in the picture and crossed the room to get a closer look. I was maybe three feet away when I realized just what it was I was looking at, and it froze me in my tracks. I had to be seeing things. The image in front of me couldn't possibly be real. I stood there, dumbfounded, trying to slow down my racing heart and catch my breath. When I finally got my insides back under control I closed my eyes, telling myself that when I opened them I would see the real photo, and not the unexplainable picture I thought I'd seen.

But when I opened my eyes it was clear that I had seen the actual photo, yet I still couldn't believe it. On Matt Langford's mantel, in an old, old frame, was a photo of two men that I definitely recognized. On the left was James Langford, and standing to his left in the picture was a man I knew well. With their arms around each other's shoulders and smiles on their faces, the second man in the photo was none other than Beauregard Maverick, my pappy.


	4. Young

Chapter 4 – Young

I stood for a long time and stared at the photo. I kept thinking that if I looked at it long enough, it was bound to change into a photo of someone else. Who, exactly, I didn't know, but it just had to. The men in that photo couldn't possibly be Matt Langford's father and my pappy, looking for all the world like the best of friends.

I picked it up and held it close. I put it down and backed away from it. I tried squinting at it and looking at it wide eyed, but nothing seemed to change it. What was the meaning of it?

Some time later I heard a sound and whirled around rapidly. Matt stood behind me, staring at me just the way I'd stared at the photo. He didn't look a whole lot better than he had when I brought him here, but he was on his own two feet and his eyes were open. "I see you found their picture."

"You knew about this?" I asked, still not able to grasp the full implications of the photo.

"Yes."

"Since when?"

Matt dropped into one of the clean chairs. I didn't know if Matthew was in any state to explain the photo to me, but he was the only one here that knew what it all meant, so I was going to have to listen to him. No matter how long it took. "Coffee?"

"Yeah. You want some?" I went into the makeshift kitchen and brought a cup and the coffee over. Matt took the cup and held on to it shakily, and I poured it almost full. He drank some of it down and I filled it up again, then took the coffee pot back to the kitchen.

"I've known . . . for a long time. Since before . . . I lost to you." His voice was almost as shaky as his hands, but I waited for him to continue. "It's old. They were young."

I picked the frame up from the mantel and studied the photo. They were indeed young, probably younger than me. I'm not sure I've ever seen my Pa look quite as happy as he did in the picture, and I turned back to Matt, still clutching the frame. "Why didn't you tell me they knew each other?"

Even with all the coffee Matthew had consumed recently, he still looked like he was about to fall asleep again. Or pass out; I wasn't sure which. "Knew each other? They were close . . . like brothers."

Close as brothers? Pappy and Uncle Ben had always been close, just like Bret and me. All the tales they'd told . . . yarns they'd spun for us . . . none of them included James Langford. His name had never been spoken as long as I could remember. There had to be a lot more to this tale, but I didn't think there was much hope of hearing any of it from Matt, at least not anytime soon. There was only one thing to do if I was gonna find out anything more. And I couldn't do it here.

I waited until Matt's eyes closed again, then set the picture down in the empty chair and went back into his bedroom. Locating a small valise, I packed some clean clothes, returning to the living room when I was finished. I wiped the frame off on my coat, then put it inside the valise and closed it. I walked back out to the street and hailed a buggy, loading the bag in when I got one to stop. "Wait here, I have a sick man to bring out," I told the driver. It took a few minutes but I finally got Matt in the buggy, and we headed back to Le Richelieu.

It didn't take much to change rooms at the hotel, swapping mine for a larger one with two beds. With some help from the baggage clerk I got Matt inside and into one of the beds. He was in desperate need of a bath, but that would have to wait until he could stay alert for longer than five minutes at a time. Even I wasn't foolish enough to try bathing a man under the influence.

It was easy enough to do something about me, however, so I got myself clean and changed clothes. By the time I was finished, Matt had begun to show signs of waking up on his own. That's what I had been hoping for, so I sat down to play some Maverick Solitaire and wait. Within the hour he was as close to coherent as he'd been since the first night I was in New Orleans.

"Matt, we have to get you cleaned up. How about it?"

He gave me a look that asked 'why?' but said nothing, so I put together a set of clothes and guided him down to the 'bath room.' It took another hour, but by the time we were done he looked and smelled a whole lot better. The next hurdle would be to get some food into his stomach. I had the feeling that getting him clean would prove to be the easier task.

XXXXXXXX

Back in 'our' room, clean and sort-of fed, Matt seemed more responsive to me and my questions. "I brought the photo, Matt." When we'd returned to the hotel I'd gotten the frame and photo clean, too, and right now it was sitting on the table by the window, the same place we were seated. I looked at it in the fading daylight and marveled at how young Pappy appeared. "They look happy, don't they?"

He nodded. "Young. They were young."

"And you said they were close as brothers?"

"Mother told me. Afterward."

I assume he meant after James Langford died. I still didn't know anything about that. "Pappy's never mentioned your father, not once in all these years." Silence from Matt, so I continued. "Did Uncle Ben know your Pa, too?"

"Don't know."

"Why didn't you tell me, Matt?"

Matthew's answers were slow in coming, like he was wording them carefully before he gave them to me. "Thought . . . you knew."

"I didn't. I don't. That's why I was so . . . surprised."

"There's more to tell."

I had no idea how much his momma might have said to him after his pa's death. Or how much of it he was willing to share with me. "I'd like to hear whatever you'd be willing to tell me."

"You sure?"

That was a funny question. If I had any idea how much unhappiness was about to be forthcoming from the man sitting across from me right now, I might have answered it differently. "I'm sure."

"Not . . . what you came to New Orleans for."

I shrugged my shoulders. "But it's what I've found."

Matt looked at the photo again, and his voice grew faint. "I need to see . . . Weng-Fai Wong."

It was hard for me to understand what Matt was feeling; all I knew was what his visits to Weng-Fei's had done to him physically. "So you can go back to the way you were? Starving and filthy? Half-dead?"

The same faint voice answered me. "So I can live with . . . what I know."

And what he was going to do.


	5. The Nightmare Begins

Chapter 5 – The Nightmare Begins

I racked my brain, trying to figure out just what it was that Matt could know. Something so awful that it drove him to . . . what? Smoking opium? Looking for what? I wasn't certain, and I didn't want to assume anything. But it sure seemed like Matt was lookin' for a way out.

"Weng-Fai's won't help any." I thought about my trip into the bottle after Caroline was killed. I learned the hard way that tryin' to forget your perceived problems didn't make them go away. They were still right there when you quit whatever it was you were doin' to forget 'em. But I didn't know if there was any way I could convince Matt of that fact.

When he looked at me, his eyes held some emotion that I couldn't read. It was only later that I learned it was a mixture of terror, regret, and pure hatred. "I can't . . . I won't tell you anything until I've been to Weng-Fai's."

"Matthew, it almost killed you."

He turned those eyes back on me, and I could only call them . . . haunted. "Not a word, Bart."

I shook my head. "I won't take you."

He got to his feet and held onto the table to steady himself. "Then I'll go alone."

I had no intention of helping him get back to Weng-Fai's. Even if it meant watching him undo all the work I'd done in the last twenty-four hours. If Matthew was gonna kill himself, I wanted no part in it.

He made his way slowly to the door, and then out of it. I followed, watching from the doorway of the room as he moved ever so slowly down the staircase. I sighed, wondering if I would ever see him alive again.

XXXXXXXX

Three days later I was sitting in Louisiana Lil's, holding a Queen high straight, when Matt Langford walked in. He was clean and well-groomed and was dressed better than I was. I was so surprised that I almost forgot to bet my hand. He walked straight to the bar and ordered absinthe. Drink in hand, he surveyed the poker tables, and an odd smile spread over his face when his eyes found me. He raised his glass to me and drained it, then ordered another. As soon as his glass was filled he walked over. I was just collecting the pot.

"Bart, old friend, I didn't expect to see you here. Join me for a drink, why don't you?" I excused myself from the game and followed Matt to an empty table, bringing my coffee with me. "Don't you ever drink anything else?" he asked, despite the fact that I'd probably told him a dozen times or more that coffee was as strong as it got, especially when I was 'working.'

"No, Matt, I don't. I'm surprised to see you . . . looking so well." Don't misunderstand. Matthew was still rail thin, but that was the only thing he had in common with the man that I'd practically brought back from the dead earlier in the week. "Where've you been all this time?"

He chuckled before he answered me. "At Weng-Fai Wongs."

"No, really, where have you been?"

He looked me right in the eyes and seemed deadly serious. "I've been at Weng-Fai's, Bart. Really."

"I . . . I'm surprised."

He chuckled again. "Told you I needed to go there."

I nodded, being somewhat at a loss for words. "You did. And I didn't believe you."

"Matter of fact, I've just come from there." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two cigars, one of which he handed to me. "You do still smoke, I assume?"

I nodded again, as I accepted the cigar and struck a match. This time I lit Matt's first, then mine. I'd taken two or three draws on the stogie before I noticed that it had a rather unusual, if pleasant, taste. One of the bartenders came over with the coffee pot and another glass of absinthe, and we sat and smoked for the next few minutes before the conversation started up again.

"Are you staying at your Pa's house?"

"I was, but if I remember correctly you have some of my personal belongings at Le Richelieu. Or did you dispose of them?"

"No, I have them. Including the photo."

"Ah yes, the photo. Could we go retrieve them?"

"Right now?"

He was quick with an answer. "If it's convenient, yes. Right now."

"Alright. Whenever you're ready to go."

He finished his third glass of absinthe like it was nothing, and stood up. "I'm ready."

I thought I was, too, but when I stood I felt a little shaky. I wrote it off to having missed supper and followed Matt outside. I took another draw on the cigar and noticed that taste again, only this time it seemed more sweet than anything. Matt's strides were long and firm, and I continued to marvel at how different he was from the man I saw just three days ago. We walked for almost twenty minutes before we reached Le Richelieu, and I felt worn-out by the time we got there.

I started in the hotel doors, but Matt stopped me with another cigar. "One more before we go in?"

"Sure, why not?" The taste didn't seem as strong in this one; maybe I was just getting used to it. "Say, where'd you get these cigars? They're pretty good."

"I have a supplier," he told me, which seemed like a perfectly reasonable answer at the time. "He gets them for me special."

We smoked and talked and talked and smoked. By the time we'd finished the cigars and gone in, I didn't remember much of what we'd said. I stumbled once or twice on the stairs and wondered why I was so clumsy, then fumbled a while with my door key. The door finally opened, and I directed Matt to the valise sitting on the bed. Just about the time he picked it up I sat down clumsily on the second bed. Matt said something that I didn't understand, and I asked him to repeat it. "Are you alright?" I finally heard.

"I'm . . . not . . . well," I replied, and that's the last thing I remember.

XXXXXXXX

When I woke up hours later, my head was pounding. My whole face hurt, and I couldn't breathe through my nose. And I was certain that cotton was being grown inside my mouth. I grabbed my head with my hands and moaned; then I heard a voice.

"Are you . . . hmmmmmmmmmmm . . . hmmmmmmmmmm . . . Bart?"

It sounded familiar, but it took several minutes to realize that the voice belonged to Matt. "What?" I barely whispered.

"Are you alright?"

I dropped my hands and tried to open my eyes, which felt like they were glued shut. "Matt?" That was about all I could say.

"Bart, look at me." Easier said than done. When the right eye managed to open I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my head, followed by one exactly the same when the left eye opened. The rest of me felt like I'd been run over by a team of mules. My eyes were open, but I still couldn't see clearly. Everything in front of me looked like it was underwater.

Slowly my vision cleared, and my eyes began to focus. Matt was bent anxiously over me, with what passed as a worried look on his face. "Bart, can you see me?"

I moaned again; what was wrong with me? I'd felt perfectly fine when we left Louisiana Lil's – well, almost perfectly fine. Now the only thought in my head was _'Am I dying?'_ "Matthew," finally came out of my mouth.

"What's wrong, Bart?" It hurt too much to say words, and I moaned for the third time. "Do you want me to get a doctor?"

"Noooo," I managed. "Hurts . . . bad."

"What did you have to drink?"

"C-c-c-coffee. Just coffee."

"Sure you don't want a doctor?"

It slowly dawned on me that Matt was still here in the room with me, several hours after we'd arrived. "Why . . . you . . . here?"

"You didn't expect me to leave you alone, did you? We came to your room so I could collect my things and you passed out. I wasn't about to leave you here when I didn't know what was wrong."

"How long . . . was I out?"

"All night, for heaven's sake. Good thing I stayed; you don't look well."

"Help me . . . sit up."

Without further instruction, Matt pulled me into a sitting position. The room swam; my head swam; and I wanted nothing quite so much as to make a deposit in the chamber pot, which I resisted. Slowly everything that was spinning came to a halt, and I focused on the man in front of me. "Thanks."

"Better?"

"A little. Don't know . . . what happened."

"I can stay here, you know. I was going to check into a hotel anyway, and you've got two beds . . . "

"Got this room . . . when I brought you here before."

"Brought me . . . ? Oh, I see. I was quite the mess, wasn't I? Thanks for taking care of me. Turn-about is fair play, yes? Feel any better now?"

My head was beginning to clear, the way my vision had. Matthew looked genuinely concerned, and I was grateful that he was there. "A little. Stay . . . please."

He smiled, one of those little odd half-smiles that he had, and nodded his head. "Certainly. Until you feel better."


	6. Yet Again

Chapter 6 – Yet Again

It was evening before I began to feel like myself again. I had no appetite, but that was nothing unusual for me. We tried the little café around the corner and Matt actually ate more than I did.

There was no desire to play poker, or faro, or anything else. I told Matt I was going back to bed to rest and he elected to spend time in the poker room downstairs. We parted company and he sent two of his special cigars with me; when I got back to the room I wondered if there was something in the stogie that disagreed with me. Strictly for investigative purposes, I smoked one. The taste seemed milder than last night, and I felt no effects of any kind other than the satisfaction of a good smoke.

I lay down in bed to think. I'd never felt anything like last night, and I hope I never do again. It was impossible to figure out what caused the intense headache and the other symptoms I was subjected to, and I finally turned my attention to another matter. Rather, back to another matter. The photo that sat on the table by the window.

Matt still hadn't explained anything more about the picture, and I was at a complete loss. Of course, I always had the option of sending a telegram to Pappy, but there was no guarantee that he'd give me any kind of an answer, either. Whatever happened between the two men must have been quite disturbing, since I'd never heard the name James Langford when I was growing up. Or any time since then, for that matter. Of course, I don't think I'd ever mentioned Matt around Pappy, either.

My body was worn out from whatever had attacked me last night, and I drifted off to sleep without too much trouble. Night had turned to morning when I woke, and Matt was asleep in the other bed. I did my best to get cleaned up without making too much noise, but eventually my 'guest' began to stir. I had just slipped my coat on when I heard, "How you feelin' today?"

I turned toward the bed and saw that Matt was awake. "Better. Even a little hungry. How about you?"

"I could stand some food."

"Get dressed. I'll wait."

We went to breakfast once Matt was ready, then stepped outside to smoke. He offered another cigar and I took it; I really liked the taste. "I have an errand to run," he announced, and I nodded. "Could take me quite a while. Feel up to poker tonight?"

"At least up to givin' it a try. Any chance you can tell me somethin' about the photo later today?"

"I'll tell you what I know when I get back. How's that?"

It was fine with me. "Sure. I've got some things to do, too. Meet you in the room later?"

"Sounds good." He turned away from the hotel and walked up the street. I went back upstairs; I really didn't have anything special to do, so I thought I'd read for a while. Saving energy for poker sounded like a good idea.

Several hours later I was just finishing the latest chapter in the book I was reading when there was a knock on the door. It was Matt. "Sorry, I don't have a key."

"We'll take care of that when we go down to poker," I assured him. "Get your errand run?"

"I did. Still want to hear what I know about the photo?"

Of course I did. I'd heard virtually nothing so far, and I wanted to know whatever Matt could tell me. "I do."

We both took a seat at the table over by the window, and Matt picked up the frame. "There's not much to tell. Mother said they met at the horse races and got to be friends; they took to playin' poker together and got closer. Pa got a job with a law firm and moved away; they didn't see each other for several years. Some time later my parents moved back to New Orleans, and your father was here. That's about all I know." He handed the photo to me. "This must have been taken when they first became friends, before Pa got serious about practicin' law. They would have been older when they reconnected. My brother was already born when they came back to New Orleans."

"I didn't know you had a brother," I remarked. Matt had never mentioned an older brother.

"He died before I was born."

"Sorry, Matt." I knew what it was like to lose a sibling you've never met; Bret and I had an older sister, Elizabeth, who died at birth.

He shrugged. "That's all there is, Bart. That's all Mama ever told me. And Pa never mentioned your Pappy to me."

There was something in his voice; in the tone or the words, I wasn't sure which. There was more to tell, of that I was positive, but that seemed to be all that Matthew was willing to share with me. At least for now.

"Your father's still alive, isn't he?" There it was again; disdainful, accusatory, contemptuous. What was Matt hiding from me?

"Yeah, he is. He and Uncle Ben still live in Little Bend. Is there somethin' you're not tellin' me, Matt? Cause you sure don't sound happy right now."

He got a sheepish look on his face, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Sorry, Bart. I get that way when I think about Pa bein' dead; all the year's with him I missed." He smiled at me then, and appeared sincere. "You're a lucky man."

There was no sense pushing any further, it was obvious that whatever Matt was hiding, he wasn't going to give me any more information right now. That's when I made a decision that might have saved my life. "There's somethin' I forgot to do," I told him. "I'll be right back."

I left the room and the hotel and went straight to the telegraph office. It took me a few minutes to word it just the way I wanted to, but I sent a telegram off to Pappy in Little Bend. _'In New Orleans with Matthew Langford. What can you tell me about your friendship with his father, James? Need your help, Bart.'_

I had no idea how long it would take to get an answer back from Pappy, and I went back to Le Richelieu to get ready for poker tonight.

XXXXXXXX

We both agreed that until I was sure that whatever assailed me had disappeared, the poker room at the hotel was the best place to do our gambling. Matt and I knew better than to play at the same table, and we'd probably been down there three or four hours when I felt like I needed to take a break. I excused myself from my game and went to the bar for a cup of coffee, and within a few minutes Matt joined me. He too was drinking coffee tonight, and we talked for a while and smoked another of his cigars while we stood there. "You have to get me some of these," I told him as I finished.

He laughed and handed me two more. "I'll see what I can arrange." We both went back to our respective games, and some time later I smoked the first one; it had that pungent, sweet taste that I had gotten used to. Poker got rather intense and I felt fine so, as was my habit, I lit and smoked the second cigar. It tasted no different than the first one, yet within just a few minutes I once again began to get light-headed. I kept playing, hoping that the feeling would dissipate, but just the opposite happened. A wave of nausea passed over me, and I broke out in a cold sweat.

I excused myself from the table and headed for the door, stumbling and almost falling before I got halfway there. In just a minute Matt had me by the shoulders and was guiding me back upstairs to our shared room. We hadn't quite gotten there when something swept over me, and I slipped into unconsciousness as my body refused to cooperate any further and I crashed to the floor.


	7. Slip Sliding Away

Chapter 7 – Slip Sliding Away

 _I was riding a cloud, floating high above the body that I recognized as mine, lying prone on the bed in my hotel room. I didn't know how I got there, and I didn't care. There was no pain, no worries, no cares. Just me on the cloud. I felt free and happy, looking down on the scene below, happier than I'd been since I was . . . since I was a mere child, snuggled against my mother's breast._

 _Slowly, slowly I floated away from the room and the body in it, until I was so high up in the sky that I could see the blue water and the green earth below . . . and I waved to the people below me, mere ants crawling along down there . . . Bret and Pappy and Uncle Ben, Cousin Beau and sister Jody, Lily Mae and Doralice. My cloud and me soared higher and higher, and I saw another cloud off in the distance, and Momma and Caroline waved to me and watched me pass by them . . ._

 _And after a while it began to change, and my cloud turned dark and then black, and I heard thunder rumble underneath me. The cloud began to buck and pitch, throwing me this way and that, just like an unbroken mustang, until finally it threw me high into the sky, amidst the thunder and lightning. And I began to fall, down, down, down, and everything around me turned the color of the cloud, black as night and cold as death, and everyone and everything disappeared and I just kept falling._

 _I slammed into the earth but there was no pain; I tried to breathe but couldn't feel the air in my lungs. "Help me! Help me!" I cried, and a gray wolf sat on its haunches and howled at me. That's when I saw him, the tall dark man dressed all in black, and he was coming for me, coming to take me away from here and deposit me in the muck and mire. The man in black slowly turned into Pappy, Beauregard Jefferson Maverick, and he threw back his head and laughed at me – then he pulled out a gun and shot me, and I felt all the life drain out of me and be replaced by a feeling of anger; an anger so dark and intense that it controlled my entire mind, and ruled everything._

 _And I felt the Lord reach down and grab me, and turn me inside out until my breath came in gasps, and sobs, and then . . . nothing. I drifted downwards, like a feather on the wind, and softly, slowly, turned into the dirt on the ground, and my insides exploded and I . . . died._

What was it? It certainly hadn't been a dream; I wasn't sleeping. I was hallucinating, like I had on Lakota Mountain, only not like that at all. I thought that was all real as it was happening to me; I knew that this wasn't. I wanted to shake it off, get out of it and return to reality, and there was nothing I could do to facilitate that. I saw the very edge of my sanity start to slip away from me and I tried to grab it, and hold onto it, but it slithered away like a garden snake and left me . . . alone.

Hours . . . days later . . . my head exploded like it had before and I screamed in agony at the pain. In reality I didn't make a sound. I don't know how long I lay there, frozen somewhere between awake and asleep, alive and dead, reality and illusion. At long last I opened my eyes and my head really did hurt, less than it had the first time, and I threw my arm across my eyes to shield them from the light that tried so desperately to blind me. I could focus my eyes, unlike the watery sight I had the first time this happened; instead the underwater feeling had invaded my ears, and everything sounded the way it did when I was thrown over the railings of the Mississippi Bayou Belle.

I felt a hand on my arm and saw a face to go with it, but the words it spoke were nothing but unintelligible sounds. When I didn't answer, it repeated the same sounds over again. "Blurb blurb blurb blurb blurb."

A name formed in my head to go with the face in front of me. Matt. I tried to say it and could only get out "Maaaaaaaa." I felt a hand touch my cheek and then quickly pull away, as if scalded by my very skin. I gave up; there was no sense in trying to fight whatever had hold of me. I let go and drifted back towards the spot where my cloud waited for me.

XXXXXXXX

My hand was lying on something wet, and it took some time to realize that the wet thing was me. My clothes were soaked through with sweat, yet I shivered with cold. From seemingly nowhere a wool blanket covered me, but I continued to shake. I heard a word repeated over and over, and the sound finally penetrated my ears. "Bart, Bart, wake up Bart."

After a long struggle my eyes opened and I saw that same face looking down at me. It was Matt – I finally recognized him. This time I was able to speak the whole word. "Matt."

"Thank God. I thought we'd lost you for good."

I stared at him, unable to say anything further. I wanted to know who 'we' was, but I couldn't ask. As if reading my thoughts, Matt told me, "I had the doctor here. Twice, as a matter of fact. He thought you were dying."

The doctor wasn't the only one that thought I was dying. This . . . thing, this whatever-it-was, was doing its level best to kill me, and I was sure it was on the path to succeed. "What?" I managed to get out, and I could only hope that he understood I was asking what was wrong with me.

He must have, because he offered an explanation . . . of sorts. "Some kind of swamp fever, the doctor thinks. That's all he could come up with. He gave you some laudanum, but didn't have anything else to give you."

I tried to grab the blanket and pull it up to my chin. I was still shaking with cold but I wasn't sweating anymore. Matt put another blanket on me and sat down on a chair by the bed. "One minute you were burning up with fever, then the next minute you were ice cold. I wasn't sure . . . " Matt kept talking, but I was no longer listening. I couldn't, I simply couldn't. It didn't matter what he was saying, I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. They closed ever so slowly and I waited, wondering if the cloud would come and get me again. It didn't, but sleep did.


	8. Swamp Fever

Chapter 8 – Swamp Fever

I was alone when I woke. I didn't know how long I'd been asleep or whether it was day or night. To be honest, there wasn't much I was sure of. My body ached everywhere, but my head was the worst. My eyes hurt and my mouth was dry, and I felt like my face was on fire. I moaned out of sheer habit, but it didn't make me feel any better. I struggled to sit up after I threw off all the blankets that were piled on top of me. The only positive was I no longer seemed to have a fever.

There was one problem I could solve if I could get on my feet. There was a pitcher of water and a glass sitting on top of the dresser on the other side of the room. It took an effort, but I finally pulled myself to my feet and shuffled across to the water. I felt like I'd turned into an old, old man.

After the drink I sort of collapsed into a chair at the table. I had no idea where Matt was, and at that exact moment I didn't care. I felt dirty, and I smelled something awful. For all I knew, I'd been sick and incoherent for days. My stomach growled loudly and my hands shook uncontrollably. And all I could do was sit there – I didn't have the strength even to get back to the bed.

I might have sat for hours if Matt hadn't opened the door. His eyes went first to the bed, then shifted and found me at the table. "Bart! You're awake and up! How do you feel?"

"Like I'm dead," I answered. At least I was able to talk, since I'd gotten to the water. Matt looked somewhat surprised that I was coherent.

"Here, let's get you back to bed." In a minute he was by my side, helping me to my feet, walking me to the bed. At that moment I was incredibly grateful he was there. Once I was settled back in he had a question for me. "Can you eat something?"

"Food would be welcome." And I didn't much care what it was, either. Anything to stop this aching inside me.

"I'll go downstairs. I'm sure they can fix something."

"What time is it?" I still had no conception of day or night.

He pulled out his watch and checked it, then looked out the window. "Almost sunrise."

"What day?" was my follow-up.

"Do you remember Friday?"

I had to think. "Sort of."

"It's Sunday morning."

No wonder I smelled. I could remember waking up at least twice, soaked in sweat, and I hadn't bathed for more than four days. How could Matt even stand to be in the same room with me?

"I have to . . . I'm dirty . . . I smell. I have to get . . . cleaned up."

Matt shook his head. "You have to eat something first. Then we can worry about a bath."

I was in no shape to argue with him. I just wanted everything to go back to the way it had been more than a week ago, before I'd come down with whatever this was. I didn't know it then, but it was going to be a while before that happened.

XXXXXXXX

Three days later I felt like I would live. I felt so much better, in fact, that I actually went outside, while Matt protested that if I didn't take care of myself I'd suffer a relapse. I managed to make it all the way down to the telegraph office and all the way back, although the trip seemed to be for nothing. There was no wire from Pappy; no response at all to my request for information about James Langford. Of course there was always the possibility that Pappy was out of town – but in that case I would have expected some kind of an answer from Uncle Ben. Unless he and Ben were together.

I took a brief nap and a good look at my funds. It was time to play some poker, assuming I remembered how, and I refused to let Matt talk me out of it. I hired a buggy and went to Sophie La Mar's, a place I'd always had decent 'luck,' and spent the entire afternoon at a table. By the time I left I was practically exhausted, but my poke had grown by almost two thousand dollars.

I stopped at the café close to Le Richelieu and talked to Charmaine, the lady that had always taken care of me. She was sad that I hadn't been in to see her, but when I explained my bout with 'swamp fever' she gave me an odd look. "You . . . haven't been drinking absinthe, have you?" she asked me quite seriously.

I shook my head. "I don't drink that stuff, remember?"

"Have you . . . well, no, never mind."

The concern in her voice prompted me to encourage her. "Whatever it is, ask me."

She sat down at the table, a rather bold move for Charmaine, and questioned me very softly. "Have you been chasing the dragon, Mr. Maverick?"

"Chasing the dragon?" I repeated.

"Smoking opium," she whispered.

"No, Charmaine, I told you, I had swamp fever."

"Mr. Maverick, there hasn't been any swamp fever around here for months and months."

I stared at her like she had two heads. "That's what the doctor called it."

There was sympathy in her eyes, as if she was sorry that she had to ask the next question. "Which doctor?"

"I . . . I don't know. Matthew didn't give me his name."

"Matthew Langford?"

"The same."

"You do know that Mr. Langford spends his nights . . . "

"Where, Charmaine? Recently he's spent them taking care of me."

"Was he with you last night?"

"Yes. And he's been there the last week."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Maverick." She started to get up from the table, and I caught her wrist and stopped her.

"Was he in here?"

Again that sad, sympathetic look. "No sir, but he walked by right before we closed, around ten o'clock."

I didn't quite understand. What was so unusual about that? "So he walked by. What difference does it make, Charmaine?"

She hesitated for just a moment before she answered me. "He was with someone."

"So?"

"Mr. Maverick, he was with Weng-Fai Wong."


	9. A Reason for Revenge

Chapter 9 – A Reason for Revenge

It was entirely possible that Matt had been absent from our room last night at ten o'clock. It didn't seem possible, however, that he was with Weng-Fai. There was no sign, no indication that he had reacquainted himself with either the dragon or the dragon master, yet Charmaine had no reason to lie, and I believed her.

I pondered what it could possibly mean. No matter what kind of an excuse Matt had for being in Weng-Fai's company, it bothered me. A lot. There were too many things that didn't add up. Matt had nearly been on death's door when I ran into him, yet a mere three days later he looked like a new man. He had been thoughtful and kind, and a great help to me when I was ill. But there was still something very odd about the whole situation, made even stranger by the mysterious photo of his father and mine. There was something missing in the equation, and I wanted to find out what it was. No, I needed to find out what it was.

When I got back to the hotel Matt was out, and I got ready for bed before I did anything else. The past three days I'd fallen asleep on a moment's notice, and I didn't want to do any more sleeping in my clothes. Then I sat down at the table with the photo in hand. There was a story here, and whatever it was, Matt wasn't talking. I wondered just how long I had to wait to find out the truth about Beauregard Maverick and James Langford.

XXXXXXXX

Matt wandered in about three o'clock, and I let him think I was sound asleep. The sweet smell of his cigars clung to him like a lover and followed him into the room, and that smell awakened a desire in me that I didn't know I possessed. I felt a terrible craving for one of Matt's special cigars, and I almost pretended to wake up just so I could ask him for one. That's what started me thinking.

Only thing was, for all the suspicions that I might have, I had no reasons. I'd tried to help Matt when he was in a bad way, and it seemed to me that he'd done his best to take care of me when I fell sick. After a while it occurred to me that we should have a talk, Matt and me, and maybe we could clear up some of the unanswered questions I had.

The next morning I slept longer than intended, and when I woke Matt was already out. How could he come in so late and be gone before I woke up? I got dressed and went downstairs for coffee, taking a cigar with me for later.

During the last two or three weeks I'd spent too much time in my hotel room and needed some fresh air, so I went to the livery and collected my horse, heading northwest towards Metairie. I'd had enough of four walls and smoke filled rooms, and just wanted to be absolutely alone for a while. Alone is exactly what I got as I rode away from the hustle and hubbub of New Orleans. After about an hour I found a shady spot by a small pond and decided it was time for a rest.

I hadn't brought anything to read, but the sky and the weather were so clear and perfect that it didn't matter. I found myself the ideal tree and spread my bedroll under it, then sat down and leaned back. I could feel the worries and concerns slipping away from me, and I relaxed and pulled out a cigar. It was one of Matt's, and I could smell the sweet, pungent aroma as I lit it and took the first draw. It made me cough so bad I thought I was gonna choke. It was the same cigar that Matt had been giving me, yet it wasn't the same at all.

Every one that I'd smoked so far was smooth and sweet, mild and friendly, like an old lover you hadn't seen for a while. This cigar reached out and grabbed you by the throat, then picked you up and shook you until you begged for mercy. I couldn't smoke it; I tried to tell myself that something was wrong and I had to put it out – but it had that grip on me and it wouldn't let go. It drew me in and wrapped its arms around me, and then it tried to strangle me. Its effect on my poor head was like being hit by the butt end of a shotgun, yet the jolt it gave was irresistible. Too late I realized that Charmaine was absolutely correct when she told me she'd seen Matt with Weng-Fai Wong; whether I wanted to or not, I was smoking a cigar soaked in opium. And my body craved the drug enough that I couldn't put it down.

XXXXXXXX

 _All I could remember was screaming and crying, the way any three-year-old child would when they were witness to a beating being inflicted on their father. Three men I'd never seen before had Pappy on the ground and were proceeding to kick the living daylights out of him; a fourth man was holding tightly on to me so that I couldn't do anything more than flail my little fists and sob. Why they were hurting him I had no idea; I just knew that if they didn't quit soon, they'd kill him. Finally they grew weary of the punishment and stopped. I heard one of them snicker and yell at what was left of my father, "Next time you guarantee somebody's debt, make sure they're gonna pay!"_

 _The three men walked away, while the fourth turned loose of me and followed them. I ran straight to Pappy and tried to brush the dirt and blood from his beautiful, ruined tan frock coat, all the while screaming and sobbing, "Pappy! Pappy!" A low moan issued forth from his lips and he slowly rolled over onto his right side._

 _His face was bruised and battered, and his left eye was swollen shut. There was blood dripping from his nose and lips, and his ruffled shirt was ripped and torn to shreds. I hated those men; I wanted to run after them and hurt them as badly as they'd hurt Pappy. I finally fell to the ground and sat choking and weeping, crying, "Don't die, Pappy! Please don't die!" Eventually a bloody hand reached out and pulled me close to him, and I sobbed into his chest as he tried to hold me against him and ease_ _my_ _suffering._

" _Shhh, Bartley, hush now. It's alright. I'll be alright. Shhh." We sat that way for ten minutes or more, my father bloodied and in agony, desperately holding on to his youngest son, who was terrified and filled with hate at the same time. Eventually a woman came out of the house and I recognized her; she was Matthew's mother, Arabeth. She kneeled next to my father and tried to wipe the blood from his face, and all the while I could hear her murmuring, "I'm sorry, Beauregard. I'm so sorry."_

 _Someone else emerged from the house and was instructed to run for the doctor, and when he came they managed to get Pappy inside and into a bed. I was handed over to the maid, who took me into the kitchen and tried to bribe me with cookies; I wanted no part of them. All I wanted was Pappy._

 _Later that day they let me see him, because I wouldn't stop crying until they did. His head and face were bandaged, and what they couldn't bandage was black and swollen. He looked so bad that I was sure he must be dead. "Bartley, my boy. They didn't hurt you." His left hand was wrapped, but he used it to pull me to him anyway. "Stop cryin', now. I'll be alright."_

 _Something rose up inside me, something so intense that it threatened to tear me apart. Feelings like I'd never had before, ones that I would come to know as anger and hate. What they had done to my Pappy was awful; the worst thing imaginable, and they had to pay. Pappy must have seen it on my face, and in my eyes, because he told me somethin' that would color my life forever after. "You can't hate, son, it don't do nobody no good. You gotta keep that deep down inside you, and not let it out to where it can hurt people. You understand, boy? You can't spend your life tryin' to get even." And then he kissed me, much as it must have pained his poor tender, swollen lips, and held me to his chest and made me promise not to try and extract revenge. And I cried again, and gave him my promise._

 _And for just one moment I hated him for depriving me of my anger and desire for retribution._


	10. Among the Missing

Chapter 10 – Among the Missing

My face was wet, and there was water dripping in my eyes. Slowly I realized there was water dripping in my nose, my mouth, my ears. And that I was soaking wet, clothes and all. Of course I was; it was raining. I tried to sit up, and it was almost too much of an effort. I looked around and saw my horse munching grass peacefully, rain or no rain. It didn't bother him one bit.

It wasn't light or dark; it was more of a gray sky all around. It appeared I'd been here all day. I had my butt kicked by Matt's cigar; evidently one prepared specifically for him, since it seemed to be so much more potent than the one's he'd been supplying to me. My head was still foggy and my body lethargic; if it hadn't been for the rain I would probably still be lying on my bedroll hallucinating. Or was it actually remembering? I had enough of my wits about me to realize that there'd been no physical collapse, no swamp fever. Pure and simple, I was being drugged.

One thing I couldn't answer was the question that haunted me – why? Because Matt owed me money? Had I offended or insulted him in some way? As my mind tried to clear, more and more of my 'dream' came back to me and I slowly began to understand something – what I'd experienced as a three-year-old boy was real – I'd actually witnessed the awful beating that Pappy was subjected to. As that fact came into focus, other points became clear. The thrashing had taken place in New Orleans, and Matt's mother Arabeth was there. Which means it happened at the Langford home – maybe the very house that Matt was currently living in.

I was so confused; my mind was spinning with all the facts dancing around inside it. And that question I had no answer to became more and more complicated. Why? Why had I not remembered what happened to my father? Why were we in New Orleans? Where were Momma and Brother Bret? For that matter, where were Matthew and his father? Who were the assailants? What did they mean about making sure a guaranteed debt was paid?

The rain had stopped and I shivered with cold. As I struggled to get to my feet it dawned on me that there were only two people I could get answers from – Matthew himself, and Pappy. Matt was back in New Orleans and Pappy – I didn't know where Pappy was, or why he hadn't answered the wire I'd sent him. Or had he? Maybe Matt knew the answer to that question, too. I left the bedroll on the ground; it was soaked through and through. After several tries I managed to mount my horse and headed back to New Orleans, holding on for dear life.

It seemed like days later when I arrived. I went straight to Le Richelieu and had the clerk send someone to take care of my stallion. I don't think I could have made it back from the livery by myself; I could barely stand long enough to climb the staircase. My room key was nowhere to be found, and I leaned precariously against the door and did my best to knock on it, slapping at it with an open palm. When Matt opened the door I fell into his arms and passed out, my strength and every bit of my fortitude gone.

When next I was awake, I knew that I'd gotten back to the hotel; I could hear Matthew talking to someone. His words weren't clear at first, so I lay there with my eyes closed until I could understand what he was saying. And I kept up the pretense of unconsciousness until I knew who he was talking to.

" . . . damn fool took one of my cigars. I'm surprised he's still alive. What do I do with him now?"

"Wait." I'd never heard the voice before; it was definitely male.

"How long?"

"As long as it takes, Matthew." Cultured, educated, refined. Weng-Fai Wong?

"Could he be addicted that fast?"

"Doubtful. But well on his way."

Without intending to, I slipped back down into the black hole that my mind had become. The next thing I recognized was the smell in the air; that pungent odor that told me Matt was smoking another of his cigars. The desire to open my eyes and share the taste of it was almost more than I could bear, and I knew that his guest was correct – I was well on my way to addiction – just as Matt planned.

I had to fight my way out of this; I was in desperate need of help. Bret was in Memphis, maybe – I wasn't sure of that. Pappy was in Texas. Beau was in Denver, the last time I heard from him. I was lost, and alone, with no one to turn to. And, for the first time in a long time, frightened. Truly frightened.

XXXXXXXX

 _It was sometime after the beating that Pappy had endured. I remember that Arabeth had let me stay in the room with Pappy, because every time someone tried to remove me I screamed and wailed until, in desperation, they gave in. I was supposed to be asleep; Pappy already was. The voices were right outside the door; one was Arabeth and I didn't know the other._

" _They almost killed him. I think they might have if little Bartley hadn't been there."_

" _I didn't ask him to do it, Arabeth."_

" _You didn't have to. He's your best friend, and you were in trouble. He did it to protect you, to protect us. And that's how you repay him. How could you do that? I got that money so you could repay the debt, and you lose it playing faro. You knew they'd come after you, and when they couldn't find you they did this to him. With his child watching, James, that poor little boy sleeping with his daddy right now. He'll never forgive you."_

" _He'll forgive me."_

" _I'll_ _never forgive you. As soon as Beauregard is well, I'm taking Matthew and leaving."_

" _You can't. I've already lost one son, you can't take the other one."_

" _You should have thought of that before you let those ruffians try to kill the one man who stood up to defend you."_

" _Arabeth . . . "_

 _That's all I heard. The voices moved away from the door and I fell asleep, but I remember that it was weeks before Pappy was well enough to travel. And when we finally left New Orleans, Arabeth and Matthew Langford went with us._

XXXXXXXX

Sometime during the night I staggered out of bed and found the chamber pot, but there was nothing inside me to expel. My head didn't hurt as bad as it had before, and I wondered if that was an indication my body was becoming tolerant of the drug. I pleaded with God for help, and begged for the strength to resist smoking any more of Matt's cigars. The room was peaceful and still, and I saw the sleeping form in the other bed. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to find my Colt revolver and empty it into Matt Langford. Hanging would be a welcome relief.


	11. Send in the Cavalry

Chapter 11 – Send in the Cavalry

Fortunately, I had no idea where my Colt was, and within a few minutes unconsciousness once again claimed me. I can't call it sleep because it was something I had no control over. When I next stirred it was morning; this time Matt was still in bed. There were two ideas flirting with the edges of my rationality – and the one I tried depended entirely on one thing. If Matt believed I didn't know I was being drugged I'd take one approach. If he assumed I'd figured it out, I'd take the other.

I lay in bed and waited for him to make the first move.

I didn't have to wait too long. I heard him stir and closed my eyes, then let a moan escape. Immediately he was alert and by my side. "Bart? Can you hear me?"

"Matt?" I questioned feebly. I didn't have to pretend a bad throat; between the smoke and the rain I found it difficult to speak.

"Bart, what happened to you? Where were you?"

"Got caught . . . in the storm. Lost. Feel . . . sick again."

"I'll get dressed and fetch the doctor."

"No. Please. No doctor this time."

He shook his head and looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "You need the doctor."

"Just . . . just let me go. Don't wanna . . . live like this."

I saw something in his eyes. Panic . . . fear that I might actually succumb to the very trap he'd set for me. "No, no, no. You're not gonna die, Bart. I'm goin' for the doctor, no arguing." Whatever the reason for drugging me, he wasn't yet finished with the torture. Because that's what it was, torture. Just as sure as if the Comanche's had inflicted it on me.

I no longer protested his fetching the doctor. If nothing else, Matt's absence from the room would give me a brief period to see if I could find any kind of response from Pappy to the telegram I'd sent. Besides, it would give me a chance to see just which doctor Matt brought back, if any.

Once alone, it was more of a struggle than I'd anticipated getting out of bed and upright. I finally managed it, but I was shaky at best and knew that my time was limited. Ten minutes later I'd been through everything that belonged to Matthew and half of my own belongings, and I'd turned up nothing out of the ordinary. No trace of any reply from Pappy, or anyone else for that matter. Was I imagining things? Was I so sick with some kind of disease that I'd created a whole different scenario of what was actually happening in my head?

Footsteps in the hall and I visually searched the room to see if I'd left anything out of place, then got back into bed. Just in time, too, as Matt opened the door, followed by the 'doctor.' I was about to see if there was really something physically wrong with me.

"You're awake," was the first thing I heard.

"Uh-huh." That was about the best answer I had to give right now. A little Chinese man stepped out from behind Matthew, a man that looked older than Pappy. I was immediately suspicious, but all my years of poker playing had taught me to reserve my judgment until I had some kind of proof.

"This is Doctor Lee," Matt introduced, and all I did was blink. "He's the doctor that saw you before."

"Mr. Maverick, I'd like to examine you now," Doctor Lee intoned. He spent the next few minutes conducting an examination that was somewhere between haphazard and thorough. When he'd finished, he turned to Matthew. "May I speak with you, Mr. Langford?"

Almost as if I didn't exist, 'Doctor Lee' and Matt left the room, supposedly to discuss my condition. When they returned Matt shared Doctor Lee's conclusion with me – that I'd suffered a relapse of the swamp fever, and the best treatment available to me was a healthy dosage of laudanum. Which I refused. If I needed proof, it had just been provided to me, and I wasn't about to let either of them drug me any further.

"No. No more."

Matt's displeasure at my refusal of the medication was evident, but I wasn't backing down. Laudanum on top of the opium was just what Matt needed to keep me under his thumb, and I was gonna do everything in my power to resist it. Unbeknownst to me, they had a way around it, as I was soon to discover.

XXXXXXXX

Spending the day in the rain; cold, soaked to the skin and over-loaded on opium, did my body no good at all. Just as I began to recover from the exposure to the drug insured by smoking Matt's cigar, I came down with what can only be described as a terrible illness. Weakened by the repeated damage the opium had inflicted, I wasn't capable of getting out of my sickbed and fetching my own food. And my dependence on Matt to provide sustenance played right into his and 'Doctor' Lee's hands. They were clever, and hid the taste of the laudanum in the food Matt brought me.

Once I'd consumed the original dose, I was under Matt's spell. As I lingered for days in that vulnerable state, I came closer to fulfilling Weng-Fai Wong's prediction. My reasoning was muddled, confused and out-of-control, and it was only a matter of time before I was a full-blown opium addict.

Whatever Matt Langford had planned for me appeared to be a certainty, and I was helpless to resist it. Until the day the knock on the door came, and Matt opened it to an unexpected visitor, the last one that should have stood on the other side. Beauregard Maverick.


	12. One Step Forward

Chapter 12 – One Step Forward

I was only vaguely aware of Pappy's presence at the door. Matt and Doctor Lee had been feeding me laudanum for days, maybe weeks, and I had no conscious will left to resist them. Nor did I much care at that point. So I have to turn to what Pappy told me some time later.

 _Almost went into a panic the day I got your telegram. The last person on earth I wanted you to be in New Orleans with was Matt Langford, and to be asking questions about his father. I couldn't send a telegram long enough to answer them. So I started packing that afternoon and caught the stage in Little Bend the next morning for Houston. Never knew it to take so long to get to New Orleans, or maybe that was just my imagination. Took me a while to track you down, until I remembered you tellin' me about Le Richelieu._

 _The desk clerk said you'd been there several weeks, and that you were sharin' a room with Langford. And that you'd been sick, on and off, for quite a while. I asked what he meant by sick and got an explanation that poured cold water on my heart. 'Swamp Fever' was what he called it, but I had a deathly fear of what it really was, and I knew that no son of mine would ever go there of his own free will. Bein' young an foolish an drinkin' was one thing, but this was somethin' else entirely._

 _I left my bag at the front desk until I could see you myself and know just what we was dealin' with. Matthew hadn't seen me since . . . well, in a long time, and I guess he weren't sure it was me. Neither of us said anything; I pushed past him into the room and saw what you had become. It took everything I had not to react the way I did when I saw you in Montana. To tell you the truth, you looked better in Silver Creek._

" _Bartley . . . Bartley, it's your Pappy. Can you hear me, son?" I dropped into the chair that sat at your bedside, waverin' at that moment between takin' you in my arms and findin' my pistol. Knowin' I wouldn't be there to take care of you was all that kept me from killin' Langford where he stood. What happened in Montana was unfortunate; what happened here was deliberate. And the only reason you were made to suffer was because you were mine – my son, my boy, my flesh and blood. I'd have done anything at that moment to have spared you this pain – because hell was only beginnin' for both of us; you most of all._

 _You stared at me, sortta, and those dancin' eyes of your mommas were dull an dead. I couldn't help myself then, all I wanted was to hold you an comfort you, to sing you a lullaby like your momma used to and rock you until you felt better, until you were better. Just as I reached for you I heard that laugh, and that evil voice askin', "How's it feel, old man? How's it feel to see him like that? Pains you, don't it? I've waited a long time for this."_

 _I guess I lost my head. I took a swing at him and connected, bloodying his nose and knocking him to the ground. "Get up," I growled at him through clenched teeth. "Get up so I can do it again." He started to laugh as he got up off the floor, but he saw somethin' in my eyes and stopped. I'd surprised him, and he didn't quite know what to do about it. "He did nothin' to you. It's me you wanted, not Bart. Get outta here, before I kill you." Just in case he got any ideas about me bein' a frail old man, I pulled out the derringer I had in my waistcoat pocket and pointed it at his heart. If he'd a twitched the wrong way I woulda shot him._

" _You're too late, old man. What's done is done. Live with it, just like I have." Those were the last words that Matthew Langford spit at me as he backed out the door. I followed him as quickly as I could and locked the door behind him, then came back to your bedside. Those same vacant, dull eyes looked at me, and all I could do was curse the day I'd ever tried to help James Langford._

I really didn't know what had happened. Some instinct deep down told me that the person in the room with me had changed, but that made no difference to me at all. At least not until I felt a soft touch on my cheek and, for the first time in weeks, that sweet, pungent scent of Matthew's cigars no longer hung in the air. Something deep inside me wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

Hours passed, or was it days? I'm still not sure. Slowly I began to notice little things. How still it was when it was dark in the room; Matt and Doctor Lee weren't coming and going at all hours. How much better the food tasted; there was no bitter laudanum in everything I ate. The gentleness of the hands that wiped me down when I broke out in a cold sweat; the affection in the voice that talked to me, even if I didn't understand what it was saying. The tenderness I felt from the person at my bedside, that had replaced the hostility I was subjected to before.

One night I had a terrible nightmare. I was that same three-year-old boy, screaming and crying because men I didn't know were trying to kill my Pappy, and then I was awake and sobbing uncontrollably. And the arms that held me and the hands that wiped my tears were strong, and familiar, and the sounds that comforted me were made by a voice I knew, and I realized that Pappy was there, and I was safe.

XXXXXXXX

My mind began to come back to me, one small piece at a time. I remember the first time I recognized Pappy's face, rather than just his presence, and how quickly the stern countenance changed into one of absolute delight. He'd just finished feeding me, and for the first time in days I made eye contact. "Pappy!" I exclaimed, as if he'd just appeared in the room.

"Bartley, my boy," he replied affectionately, and squeezed my hand. "I knew you were still in there somewhere."

"Have I . . . have I been gone?" I managed to ask.

It took him a minute to answer me, and I saw something shiny in the corner of his eye. "Yes. Yes you were, boy. Not by choice, either."

"Matthew?"

"We won't talk about him just yet. We'll save that for later."

Two or three days later I surprised both of us when I sat up in bed and asked for coffee. Well, sort of asked.

"Pappy?"

"Yes, Bartley?"

Pappy was resting on the second bed, reading one of my books. At least it looked like he was reading, but he closed the book and sat up himself when he saw that I was as upright as I'd been in a long time.

"I need . . . " I hesitated; I knew what it was I wanted, but I'd forgotten what it was called.

"Somethin' to eat?"

I must have looked confused, because he kept asking questions. "Water? A kerchief? A blanket? A woman?" Trust Pappy to ask that last one.

"C-c-c-c-c o . . . "

"Coffee?"

I smiled, and he smiled back at me. "That's my boy. I'll see what I can do. You be alright by yourself for a bit?"

"Sure." That caused Pappy to chuckle. He could see it better than I could; little by little I was becoming Bart Maverick again. He bent over and kissed my forehead, like I was still his baby boy, and left the room. In just a few minutes the door opened again, and I was surprised he could get downstairs and back so quickly.

It wasn't Pappy that stood in the open doorway this time. It was Matt Langford.


	13. Truth Be Told

Chapter 13 – Truth Be Told

There was still enough fog in my brain that it took me a minute to recognize Matt. By the time I did he'd already stepped inside. "Miss me?" was the first thing he asked, and snickered.

"Why . . . would I?" I asked hesitantly.

"I thought maybe you'd miss these," he offered seductively, while practically waving one of his cigars under my nose. I caught the scent of it and every fiber of my being screamed out with desire. "Here, take it." He practically put it in my hand, and I reached out and grabbed it, hiding it quickly beneath the blanket.

He was right, I did miss them. And even though I knew that was the last thing I needed, I couldn't help myself. An opium habit is not something simply forgotten or ignored. Especially when temptation is so easily gratified.

Even in the confusion I still lived in, there was a persistent question that I needed an answer to. "Why?"

Matt laughed, and I recognized that sound. It haunted my dreams, it was woven through my hallucinations. "Ask your father," he answered. "Your beloved Pappy. Ask Beauregard why, he can tell you."

"I want to hear it . . . from you."

He shook his head. "You hear the lies first. Then I'll tell you the truth."

A familiar voice entered the conversation, and it sounded as angry as I'd ever heard it. "I told you to get out the last time you were here. I'm not gonna repeat myself." Matt turned towards the voice and I could see Pappy standing in the doorway, a gun in his hand. "If you ever come back here again I'll kill you. That's the last warnin' you get."

I didn't see Matthew's face again, but I saw him straighten his shoulders and leave the room, being careful to avoid touching Pappy as he went through the door. My father turned and watched for several minutes, no doubt until Matt was out of sight, then came into the room and closed the door behind him. When I saw his face it wore a Beauregard smile, and he sat in the chair next to my bed. "Got the cutest little girl bringin' up a pot a coffee and cups, soon as it's ready. Sorry I was gone so long."

Under the covers I clutched the cigar that Matt had given me. I knew it wasn't good for me, that I should hand it to Pappy and be done with it, but I couldn't. I'd come a long way since Pa arrived, but the temptation was too much for me, and I found myself thinking of a way to smoke it. While I was still pondering that there was a knock on the door and Pappy rose to let in the dining room waitress with the coffee I'd wanted.

A few minutes later we both had a cup in our hands, and Pappy was back in the chair next to me. "What did he want?"

"I . . . don't know," I lied.

"His only intention is to inflict as much pain as possible, Bartley. The man is not your friend, son."

"But why?" There was that same question, the one nobody seemed to want to answer.

Pappy sighed. "Because anything he does to hurt you hurts me just as bad, if not worse."

That was more of an answer than I'd gotten before, but it didn't tell me much new. What did Matt have against Pappy? Why did he want to hurt both of us so badly? "Why does . . . "

"It's a long story, Bartley, and one you're not up to hearin' just yet," I was interrupted, and there was a note of irritation in Pa's voice. Then his tone changed and he continued, "I'll tell you everything, I swear. Later, soon as you're well."

XXXXXXXX

My first chance to smoke the 'present' Matt left me came later that day. Pappy announced himself in desperate need of a bath and arranged to have one drawn at four o'clock. As soon as he'd left the room I struggled to get out of bed and get to my coat, hung up and holding matches. By the time I got to take a draw from the stogie, I realized it had lost much of its potency while retaining its pungent odor. I felt the familiar jolt and slipped off into the haze of darkness that it provided.

Hours later I became aware of my surroundings. It was dark outside, and I thought I was alone. It was a few minutes before I realized that Pappy was sitting next to me, right by the bed, and he practically had a death grip on my hand. When he felt me stir he came alive. "Bartley, son, where'd you get it? Who gave it to ya? Matt?"

"Matt." That was about all I could say, and when he let go of my hand I drifted back off into the dark.

XXXXXXXX

"Bret? Bret?" I could see him, almost right in front of me, but when I reached out to touch him, he was gone. My eyes opened, and for just a moment I thought my brother was there. It took a while to realize that the image I was looking at was that of the original, Pappy, rather than the copy, my brother.

"Sorry, son, it's just me," a familiar voice informed me.

"Where . . . is he?" My throat hurt, and I knew it was a residual effect of Matt's cigar. I hadn't wanted to smoke it, really I hadn't, but I didn't have enough strength to resist.

"They're on their way downriver," Pappy answered.

"Him and . . . Beauty?"

A nod of the head. "Yep. They don't know anything, son, I haven't told 'em. Wasn't nothin' they could do, anyways, and I was already here."

"How'd you . . . explain that?"

"What, me bein' here? Told him I needed some time with my boy, that's all. Promised I'd still be here when they arrived."

"Pappy, I'm . . . I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything."

He shook his head and laid his hand on my arm. "Ain't your fault, boy. Only one person did this, and it weren't you."

"If I'd paid more attention . . . caught on sooner . . . maybe I coulda stopped it."

"No sense worryin' about that now. We just gotta get you . . . back to bein' you." He looked at me like something had just occurred to him. "Tomorrow we get you cleaned up. Then we get you outside, back out in the world. We'll do it slow, the way you an Bret did it in Montana. I'll get us a buggy, and we can see this town proper. Been a lotta years since I did that. Too many years. By the time your brother gets here you'll be feelin' better. Sound good to you, boy?"

I gave him a small nod of the head. "It does, Pa. I'm ready to try. There's just . . . just one thing I gotta know."

"What's that?"

Once again I asked the question that no one had answered. "Why, Pappy? Why did Matt do this? What did I ever do to him to cause such hatred?"

Pappy looked down at the floor, and when he looked up, his cheeks had flushed red. His eyes were filled with tears that threatened to spill out and run down his face; he seemed like a man whose heart was broken beyond repair. He sat that way for a minute or two, but before he said anything his eyes had cleared and his voice came out firm and strong. "You didn't do a thing, Bartley. Matthew wanted to hurt you like I hurt him. He wanted to make me suffer for what I did, and he knew the best way to do that was to hurt you."

"But why, Pa? Why? What did you do to him?"

The words that came out of my father's mouth were not the words I expected to hear. "I killed his father."


	14. No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

Chapter 14 – No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

"But he . . . he was killed in a duel."

Pappy's answer was subdued. "He was. It was a duel with me."

"In Texas?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Right here in Louisiana."

I needed to hear the whole story, but before that, I had to know if my memory of the beating was just that – a memory. "I remember bein' here with you."

"You were. More than once."

"When I was small."

"Just about three the first time."

"And you were hurt." He didn't answer me and I added, "Beaten by three men. I saw it happen."

"You remember that?"

It was my turn for a subdued answer. "I didn't. It was the opium."

"Ah. I see."

"They tried to kill you."

He laughed just a little. "Not really. If they'd tried to kill me, they wouldn't get their money."

"It wasn't you that owed 'em, was it?"

"Bartley, it's a long story, and I don't wanna tell it in pieces. Can you wait until mornin'? I'm awful tired right now."

I paid close attention to the man sitting at my bedside. He'd been there for an untold number of days and done everything he could to help me fight my way back from the poison that Matt pumped into my system. He looked old and worn out, and my heart broke for what he'd had to endure the past few weeks. The least I could do was wait another day.

"Mornin' is fine, Pappy. I'm not goin' anywhere."

XXXXXXXX

Pappy looked better in the morning, not as tired as he had the night before, and I felt better. More alert, at least. He went downstairs to the dining room and a few minutes later another of their cute little waitresses brought back food and coffee. I managed to eat a bit more than I had yesterday and Pappy seemed pleased. Once we were finished, he cleared his throat and gave me a solemn look. "I promised you the rest of the story, boy, and I'm gonna do my best. Remember, this all happened a long time ago. I ain't sure how much is still stuck in my memory."

 _Isabelle Grayson Maverick had an aunt, Letitia Hudson, who lived in Arkansas. The summer that Bret was five years old and you were three, Aunt Letitia begged your momma to come visit her and bring the boys. Bret was happy to go, but you'd been promised the summer with your Pappy and by God, you weren't goin' anywhere without me. Belle and me decided to do somethin' we dreamed up – Bret and your momma went to visit Letitia in Arkansas and you and me went to New Orleans to see my old friend James Langford. I hadn't seen James since before either one of my boys was born, and it sounded like a good idea._

 _I didn't know how much James had changed until I got there. He was still a lawyer, and a pretty good one at that, but there was somethin' else he was pretty good at, too – losin' at cards.. He was so deep in debt that the Langford family was on the verge of forfeitin' everything they had – includin' their home. James begged me to guarantee the debt, just to give his wife Arabeth enough time to borrow the money from her family. How could I say no to the man that had been my best friend for so long?_

 _But that's just what I shoulda said. Oh, Arabeth got the money alright, and gave it to James to repay what he owed. Only problem was he decided to play faro with it instead – and lost it all. I didn't know that until two days later when four men came to the Langford house. James wasn't home, but I was there. You were there, too, and three of 'em dragged me outside and proceeded to try and beat the money outta me. You came runnin' out screamin' like any three-year-old would and the fourth fella grabbed you. When they was done Arabeth sent for the doctor and he did his best to patch me up._

 _It was some weeks before I could travel. When you and me left New Orleans for the trip back to Texas, Arabeth and Matthew went with us. Your momma was still in Arkansas, so at least I didn't have to explain arrivin' with another man's wife and child in tow. I thought the troubles were over. Instead, they'd just begun._

 _A few days later Ben and me rode into Little Bend to play poker. Arabeth was still at the ranch; Matthew was sleepin' in Bret's bed, in your room. The two of you were havin' a great time. Everything seemed fine when I got home, and I was so tired I forgot to check in on you. I slept a long time; longer than I expected to with two active little boys in the house. When I woke it was still and quiet; too quiet. Soon as I saw what time it was I knew somethin' was wrong, and I went runnin' for your room. It was empty and the beds were a mess, like the two of you'd been pulled out of 'em without warnin'. Arabeth's room was empty, too, and all of her belongin's had disappeared._

 _I didn't know what happened, only that the Langford's were gone, and with them, my boy. I threw on clothes and saddled my horse, then rode to Ben's as fast as I could get there. He came back to the ranch with me, and between the two of us we found the wagon tracks that led away from the house. Ben was thinkin' better than me, and had the idea that James had stolen his family. Only he took you with him when they left._

 _I was sure Ben was right . . . about Arabeth and Matthew. But why had he taken my boy with him? And what was I gonna hafta do to get you back?_

"Pappy . . . I don't remember that. Not any of it."

"You didn't remember the beatin', either, until . . . " he reminded me, softly.

I nodded my head. "That's true, I didn't."

 _Ben rode to town to see if they'd boarded the stage to Houston, while I threw some things in a bag. By the time I was packed, Ben was back with the news. "Yep, they took the coach first thing this mornin'. A man and woman, and two little boys, looked to be about the same age."_

" _One of 'em was Bart."_

" _New stage clerk. He don't know Bart, said both boys was actin' kinda funny, like they was scared or somethin'."_

" _Why'd he do it, Ben? Why'd he take my boy?"_

" _I got no answer for you, Beau. You gonna ride after 'em or catch the stage tomorrow?"_

" _Not gonna wait. I'll ride to Austin and get the stage to Houston there. Keep an eye on the place, would ya?"_

" _I will. Good luck."_

" _Thanks."_

 _Soon as I got to Austin I caught the stage for Houston, and from there back to New Orleans. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, all I could do was worry about you and if you were alright. And what I was gonna do to Langford when I got my hands on him._

 _But first I had to find him. In the brief time that we'd been gone from Louisiana, James had sold the house, paid his debt, and found another place to live. It took me several days to locate the family – they were using a different name. But that wasn't all._

 _Once I found the new place, I watched the house and waited until James left before tryin' to approach. There was no sign of anyone; not Arabeth, Matthew or you. Well, that's not entirely true. There was a real big man with a star on his chest and a shotgun sittin' out on the porch, and I rode up to the house cautiously. "Can I help ya?" he asked while standing up._

" _Lookin' for the Mansfield's," I told him, using the name they were goin' by._

" _And who would you be?"_

" _My name's Jefferson. Friend of the family from way back. Nobody home?"_

" _That's right. Wife's visitin' relatives elsewhere."_

" _And the boys?"_

" _Don't rightly know. You wanna see Mansfield, come back tonight."_

" _Isn't it unusual to have a deputy marshal sittin' on the front porch?"_

" _Family's been threatened. That's all I know. You got any more questions, come back tonight."_

"Threatened?" I interrupted.

"That's what the man said. I didn't know if it was the men he'd owed money too, or somebody else."

"Was he still gambling? Maybe he owed someone else." I paused, but was met with silence. "Who else could it be?"

I got a funny look from Pappy, but I understood it once he'd given his answer. "Me."


	15. A Duel of Gentlemen

Chapter 15 – A Duel of Gentlemen

 _I turned my horse around and rode off. None of it made any sense, and the only one that could give me answers was Langford. I waited until long after dark and returned to the house; I had to find you. There was a different man sittin' outside; with a badge but without the shotgun. I could get close enough to hear voices inside – James and Arabeth, it sounded like. They were arguing, but there was no sign of you or Matthew. I found a spot close to the house and settled in; I hadn't been able to locate where James was lawyerin', and the only chance I had was to follow him._

 _Right after sunup Langford and Arabeth left in a buggy. She looked none too happy about it, just the way she'd sounded last night. They drove across the city and stopped at a small house on the north side. As soon as the buggy pulled up Matthew came runnin' outside and into his mother's arms; there was still no sign of you, and my heart almost stopped. That's when I saw the gun in Langford's hands; it was pointed at his wife. He said somethin' to her and she hightailed it into the house with the boy; it was clear they weren't there freely. There was still no sign of you, so I followed the buggy when it left._

 _Langford had a small office that said merely 'Attorney at Law' on the door. I waited a few minutes, then palmed my derringer and followed him in. There was no one inside but my so-called friend._

 _He didn't look surprised when he saw me. "I figured you'd turn up sooner or later."_

" _What did you expect? Where's my boy?"_

" _What boy?"_

" _My son, ya damn fool. Bart. Where is he?"_

" _Not here."_

" _Where, Langford?"_

" _Someplace where you won't find him. Now you know how I felt."_

" _I didn't force 'em to go to Texas. It was Arabeth's choice."_

" _Sure it was. And it was my choice to bring the boy back here." He had a sick sort of smile on his face. "I knew you'd follow."_

" _He's_ _my_ _son. Where is he?" James had pushed me just about as far as he could; that's when I finally pointed the derringer at him. "Where is he?" He didn't answer me, and I hit him in the head with the side of the gun and knocked him to the floor. "WHERE IS HE?"_

 _He got up on his hands and knees, and I kicked him in the ribs. He hit the floor with an "Oof" sound, and I kicked him again. "I always knew . . . you were no gentleman."_

" _That's right, ya damn crazy man, I ain't no gentleman. And if ya don't tell me where my son is I'll kill ya right now."_

" _No, you won't. If you kill me you'll never find him. You had to come back here to get him, and you won't do anything to jeopardize that."_

 _He was right, I couldn't take the chance. He'd taken possession of the most precious thing in the world to me – my son, and I'd do anything to get you back. Anything. And Langdon knew it. He was counting on it._

" _Whatta you want, you no good . . . "_

" _I want satisfaction from you, for stealing my family away from me. Satisfaction like a gentleman. And you will give it to me."_

' _I . . . how?"_

 _I expected almost anything other than the words that came out of his mouth. "You will fight a duel against me. Winner take all."_

 _I was dumbfounded. Did he really think I'd stolen his family away, and this was his way to get them back, along with my boy? Or was this his revenge for my refusal to forgive him the beating I'd suffered in his stead? And he considered himself the wronged party? Now I knew why he'd had to lure me back to New Orleans – dueling was illegal in Texas, but not here in Louisiana. Here he could kill me in a 'fight of honor' and be absolved of all blame. It was crazy, literally insane, but the only chance I seemed to have to find you – was Langdon's ridiculous demand. And God help me, I agreed._

"A duel, Pappy? And I was the prize?"

Pappy shook his head. "Not just you, son. You were the only thing important to me, but Arabeth and Matthew were part of the deal. Remember, he said 'winner take all.' He thought I wanted his family, too, and he was willin' to risk everything for retribution. There was no reason for it, none at all. But there was no reason for him to kidnap you, either. Arabeth had begged me to take her and the boy back to Texas with me. All James had to do was come and get 'em. She was a reasonable woman; she loved him in spite of his flaws, just like your momma loved me. Somethin' made him go off the rails, and I became the enemy. That made you the spoils of war, and he took you. If that's what I had to do to get you back . . . "

"But a duel?"

"Remember, Bartley, this was still the old South. And James fancied himself a Southern gentleman. He wanted a Southern gentleman's satisfaction . . . even if he had to die to get it."

It was my turn to comfort my father, and I did my best. He'd had to relive the whole miserable turn of events while he explained it to me, and I couldn't begin to understand what he'd gone through when he thought I was lost to him. All these years he'd lived with killing a man that had once been his friend, to retrieve something that was his to begin with – his son.

None of it made any sense to me. Matt Langdon had said Pappy would tell me lies and he'd tell me the truth. He couldn't possibly do that – I'd already heard the truth. But there was still Matt to deal with.

I'd done nothing but try to help Matthew. To stop what was slowly killing him – the opium smoking. And he'd repaid me much the same way his Pa had repaid mine – by tryin' to kill me instead. With the same black poison that had done its worst to him.

I could see from Pappy's face that there was more to tell. I wanted him to be done with it – dredging up all the painful memories was causing nothing but misery, and Pappy had suffered enough over something that wasn't his fault. I'm sure he thought I was tired, and truth be told, I was. But for his sake, he needed to finish. "Go ahead, Pappy. Tell the rest of it. We can sleep when you're done."

 _Far as I could see, I had no choice. I had to find you, get you back any way I could. And if that's what it was gonna take, then so be it. When he finally got up off the floor I gave him his answer. "Where and when?"_

" _Tomorrow, at sunrise. Out by the old mill. I'll bring everything we need."_

" _You bring the boy, too."_

 _I knew it was a risk, but I had to see you, to make sure you were alright. Besides, if Langdon's aim was true – there'd be no time for goodbyes._

 _The look in James' eyes told me he was surprised, but his face betrayed none of that. "Taking quite a chance, ain't you?" he asked._

" _You let me worry about that."_

 _I left him then and went straight to the telegraph office. I had to send a wire to Bentley. If I got killed it was gonna be up to him to get you back. I hated that it had to be that way, but there was nothin' else to be done._

 _I sat down in my hotel room and wrote out a will. I'd never done that before, even though I should have, but I did it now. And then I wrote a letter to your brother Bret, and another to you. Lastly, I took pen to paper and poured out my heart to your mother. When I was through, I put them all together in an envelope and mailed them to Ben, with instructions on what to do if I didn't come back. Now all I could do was wait._


	16. Ten Paces and Turn

Chapter 16 – Ten Paces and Turn

 _I was out at the old mill long before sunrise. There was no sense sittin' in the hotel, waitin' to see my boy and find out who survived this ridiculous exercise. It was just beginnin' to get light when a buggy pulled up along the western road, and I heard a familiar voice babbling. The first one out of the buggy was another stranger holding a shotgun, but lackin' a badge. Without settin' down the weapon he helped Arabeth out, then lowered a small, wiggling bundle to the ground. As soon as I stepped out of the shadows, the bundle let out a high-pitched squeal and ran right for me. I dropped to my knees and opened my arms and was almost knocked over by the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen in my life._

" _Pappy! Pappy! Pappy!" you repeated over and over, and all I could do was kiss your face and try not to get you wet with my tears. "Where you been?" you pleaded in your child's voice, and I had no words to answer you. Arabeth crossed the field to where we were, and I saw the man with the gun raise it and train the sights on her back._

 _I clutched you to my breast and stood up. Arabeth stopped a good ten feet in front of me, as if she'd been warned not to come any closer. You were still babblin' and it was hard to hear her, and I finally had to kiss your cheek and whisper, "Shhh, boy, I'm here now. I ain't leavin' you again. Now let me hear Mrs. Langford."_

" _You promise?" was the only thing you asked me._

" _I promise," I answered, and you rested your head on my shoulder and sighed._

 _Once you settled down, Arabeth spoke again. "Beauregard. This wasn't my idea."_

" _I know, Arabeth. Where was he?"_

 _She shook her head. "I don't know. James wouldn't tell me. A woman brought him to the house every day and then took him away again at night before James came to get me. Poor baby, all he could do was ask where you were and when you were coming to get him. I kept tellin' him you loved him and you'd be there just as soon as you could. Last night was the first time he got to stay with me."_

" _Arabeth, if this goes wrong . . . my brother'll be comin' for him."_

 _She gave me a wistful smile. "You do . . . what you gotta do, Beauregard. My husband's brought this all on himself. Me and Matthew . . . we'll be fine, no matter what happens." Just then a carriage pulled up from the opposite direction. Langford and two or three other men got out, and Arabeth reached out her arms. "Let me take him away now, Beau. He shouldn't have to watch this."_

 _I turned my head and tried to explain why you had to go. "You go with Mrs. Langford now, Bartley. You're gonna go for a buggy ride, and when you come back you and me are goin' home to see Bret and your Momma."_

" _No, Pappy, no!" you wailed, and my heart nearly broke. I prayed to God that I wasn't lyin' to you; that we could go home, together, in just a little while._

" _Go on, now, son, Pappy's got somethin' he's gotta do, and you can't be here while I do it. You do this for me, and then we'll leave for Texas."_

 _You whimpered some, and shook your head 'no,' but you let me hand you over to Arabeth. You watched over her shoulder as she walked back to the buggy, and I could see the tears runnin' down your face. In just a few minutes you all were gone again, and I turned my attention to Langford._

 _One of the men with him was a doctor, and the second carried what looked to be a wooden case, most likely holding dueling pistols. "Mr. Maverick, I am Jackson Meredith, and this is Dr. Elijah Smalls. This duel shall consist of one shot each, at ten paces distance, and has been declared winner take all according to the principal challenger, Mr. James Langford. Are there any questions, gentlemen?"_

 _I shook my head; Langford said nothing. We each removed our coats and Meredith opened the case, offering me the first choice of weapons. I selected a pistol and stood back-to-back with the man I'd once called 'brother.' This was insane, and if Langford didn't realize that, I did. "We don't have to do this, James," I pleaded softly._

" _Yes, we do, Beau," came the reply, and our fates were sealed._

Pappy paused, and something about the silence made me search his face. He was tired, I could tell that, but there was something more, and it was in his eyes. After all these years there was still pain, and regret, and sorrow for the things that he'd told me about. And what was still to come.

"You don't have to go any further, Pappy. I know the rest." I reached over to where he sat and took his hand; for just a moment he seemed small and frail. When he raised his head and looked at me, the Pappy I knew and loved reappeared.

"No, Bartley, you need to hear it. And I need to tell it." He patted my hand, the one resting on his, and continued the story.

 _We received instructions from Meredith. "Take ten paces forward on my count, then turn and fire. No mercy shots, gentlemen. Ready?"_

 _The count began, and I walked forward as instructed. On 'ten' I stopped and turned, to find Langford already facin' me. He cocked his pistol, as I did, and we fired simultaneously. His bullet slammed into me, but it was off target and caught me high in the left shoulder. My aim was true, and in a moment I saw him crumple and fall. I staggered from the impact but stayed on my feet._

 _And that's when it happened. From inside the carriage, a small form dropped to the ground and scurried across the grass. Matthew Langford had been there all along, and saw his father go down. My heart ached for the child; I could hear his cries of "Pa! Pa!" and knew why I didn't want you there to see the results. I heard the boy crying just as Arabeth's buggy came into view, and almost before I knew it you were runnin' towards me. Langford was dead – that became evident as Dr. Smalls got to his feet and slowly moved down the field. I grabbed you with my right arm and held you tight, never lettin' go even as the doctor began to examine my shoulder._

 _Arabeth had reached her son and tried to pull him away from his father's body. Matthew was screaming and crying, and it took me some time to hear him clearly. "You killed him! You killed him! I hate you!" Just as it looked like she had the child in her arms, he broke away from her and ran down the field towards me. "I hate you! I hate you!" he kept repeating over and over, and it was up to the doctor to bend down and pull the boy away from me._

 _I couldn't stay there then, and you and me got in Dr. Small's carriage and rode back to town with him. By the time he was done takin' care of my shoulder, you were sound asleep in his exam room._

"Maybe that explains it," I interrupted.

"What's that?" Pappy asked.

"My ability to sleep in doctor's offices. I always wondered why I was so comfortable there."

"Maybe it does."

 _Three days later I went to see Arabeth Langford. It was the first time you and me had been apart since that mornin' at the mill, and I was worried about bein' away from you. I left you with Dr. Smalls; he seemed to be the only one you were comfortable with besides me. I didn't want to have another encounter with Matthew, but I owed the widow my respects. She was kind and gracious, and did her best to ease the guilt I felt over killin' her husband. "It wasn't you that forced the fight, Beauregard. I know that, and I'll try my best to convince Matthew of it, too. How's Bartley doing?"_

" _He won't leave my side. He musta been terrified, Arabeth, bein' with people he didn't know and not gettin' an answer about where I was. Why did James take him? What did he have to gain by stealin' my boy?"_

 _She shook her head; she didn't have any better answers than I did. "I don't know, Beauregard. He wasn't the same man when he came to get us in Texas. He was cold and angry, and he was sure it was all your fault. That's all I can tell you." She reached out her hand and touched my shoulder, gently. "I'm sorry for all the pain he caused you."_

" _And I'm sorry for what it's cost you. A long time ago . . . "_

" _I know. But that man was gone, Beau. He died somewhere along the way."_

 _That was the last time I saw her. I checked with the bank before we left town and found there was a small mortgage on the house; I had enough money to pay it off and did so. Then I packed you up and we took the stage back to Houston. All these years I wondered what happened to Matthew, but I never knew. When I got your telegram all I could think of was that little boy screamin' "I hate you!"_

Pappy finally grew quiet. He was worn out, and I knew it. Not only physically; he was emotionally exhausted, too. I couldn't begin to understand what he'd been through the last few weeks, first with me and then reliving what happened all those years ago. I hoped that the worst was over; I was feelin' better and stronger every day. For a couple minutes everything looked pretty good, and then I remembered – Matthew Langford was out there somewhere. And he still hated my father.


	17. Fair Exchange

Chapter 17 – Fair Exchange

Two days later the telegram came from my brother. _'Change of Plans. Ginny back to Topeka for a case. Going with her. More later. Bret'_ To tell you the truth, I was glad. I thought it would be good for them to spend more time together; right now neither of them needed little brother tagging along.

Then there was little brother. After what I'd been through with Matt I wanted to go home and spend some time sleepin' in my own bed, with my own woman. I needed to recuperate, physically and mentally. And I wanted time with Pappy. Even though he was my father and I'd known him my whole life, I really knew very little about him. With everything I'd learned the last few years, from his and Momma's life to what he'd gone through with the Langfords, there was so much more to the man than I'd ever imagined. We were both gettin' older, and right now I wanted nothing more than to play poker with him, smoke his cigars, and hear his stories.

By the end of the week we'd started making plans to go to Little Bend. We'd done some buggy riding around New Orleans, and even some walking to help me build stamina, and I was feeling pretty good about the trip home. Pappy had gone with me back to the old Langford house to see if we could find anything that might help us locate Matthew, but there was no trace of him left there. All his clothes and personal belongings were gone; the house was deserted. That was the only thing still worryin' me, the idea that Matt might consider the whole bizarre episode unfinished and come after Pappy in Texas.

On our last day in New Orleans, Pappy had gone to buy tickets for the stage trip to Houston, while I settled down to pack. I'd been here over two months and I was more than ready to leave. I guess I wasn't payin' much attention to anything besides makin' sure I left nothin' behind, because I didn't hear the door open. I did hear the voice, however, and it sent chills up my spine. "Goin' somewhere, Bart?"

I turned around just in time to see my worst nightmare walk into the room. "What do you want, Matthew?"

He laughed as he shut the door and locked it behind him. "Why, I've come to see how you're doing, Maverick. You and that Pa of yours. How is the old man, anyway?"

I straightened up and shoved my right hand into my coat pocket. The derringer was still there, just where I'd put it before I started to pack. "We're both fine."

He looked me up and down before moving further into the room. "Leaving so soon?"

"Tomorrow."

"And you didn't come to say goodbye."

I took two steps back from him. "We looked for you, actually. You've left the house."

He nodded and leaned against the dresser. "That's right, I thought it was about time. But you should have known where I'd be."

"At Weng-Fai Wongs?"

"That's right. I thought maybe you'd join me there."

With my hand still in my pocket, I curled my fingers around the Remington, just in case. "I'm done with that."

"Are you?" he asked. "Are you really?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm not. Hope you don't mind if I smoke." With that he pulled out a cigar, and I could smell the sweet, heavy scent of it. He struck a match and lit the stogie, and immediately blew smoke at me. I backed away to the far side of the room. Even though I had no mental desire for the thing, my body ached for just a taste . . . and Matt was well-aware of it. I could see it in his eyes.

"Get out, Matthew. Get out of here before Pappy comes back and puts a bullet in you."

That wicked little half-smile danced across his face. "The way he did my father, you mean?"

"I know the truth. He told me the whole story."

"Did he, now? Did he tell you all about him and my mother?"

He was bluffing. And we both knew it. "Nothin' to tell, Matt."

"She was in love with him."

I shook my head. "I doubt that. And even if she was, he wasn't in love with her."

"He killed my Pa over her."

Still shaking my head, I answered him. "Wrong again. He killed your Pa in a duel that James Langdon insisted on."

"You believe everything he tells you?" He took another draw on the cigar and once again blew the smoke towards me. Two weeks ago I would have succumbed to his temptation. Hell, a week ago I still might have. I held on tightly to the derringer – for strength, for courage, for determination, and then I stood up straight and walked back to the front of the room. Without taking my hand from the gun I unlocked and opened the door.

"Leave. Now. Before I put a bullet in you."

"What are you gonna shoot me with, Bart? You ain't got a gun on."

"I do." Once again Pappy stood in the doorway, blocking Matthew's exit. And much to my surprise, he was wearin' a gun belt, with a Colt in the holster. My gun belt, as a matter of fact. Matt looked at him and smiled.

"Well, old man, looks like you saved your boy again. This is gettin' to be a bad habit with you." He stood up and reached for his gun. Years ago Pappy might have been fast enough to beat Matthew, but time and age had slowed both his instincts and his reflexes, and he didn't stand a chance. I took a step forward and fired the Remington from inside my coat pocket, both bullets catching Matt in the stomach. His eyes grew big with surprise and he tried to say something, but nothing came out as he crumpled face down on the floor.

"Bartley!"

"Better go get a lawman, Pappy." I pulled my hand out of my coat pocket, the Remington still in it. I had to shoot; there was no doubt that he would have killed Pa. I thought I saw movement on the floor, and I kneeled down and rolled Matt over. He was still breathing. "Get a doctor first," I corrected my instructions, and my father nodded and left. "Matthew, there's a doctor on the way."

He stared at me with vacant eyes, and I knew the doctor wouldn't get there in time. "Seems . . . fair."

I had to ask. "Whatta you mean?"

"Pa . . . and your father. Me . . . and you."

It hadn't crossed my mind until Matt said it. Pappy had shot his father. I'd shot him. "Matt, I . . . "

There was no sense going any further. His eyes closed; his breathing stopped. Matthew Langford was dead.

TBC


	18. Texas Bound

Chapter 18 – Texas Bound

It took us a while to explain everything to the U.S. Marshal that came back to the hotel with Pappy. It all seemed to make sense to him in the end, because he finally sent for the coroner and told us we were free to leave the next day. I breathed a sigh of relief. The money that Matt owed me was long since forgotten, and I wondered if someday Matthew Langford would be forgotten, too.

Pappy insisted on bringing the photo of him and James Langford home with him to Texas, although he never told me what he did with it. Maybe he just didn't want to leave it in New Orleans. I asked him what instinct had made him strap on my gun belt before he left for the stage office, and the only answer he could give me was a shrug of the shoulders. Maybe it was the same instinct that had urged me to pocket the derringer before I started packing. Lord only knows what would have happened that day if neither of us was armed.

I'd lied to Matthew when I told him I was 'done' with opium. Oh, I didn't smoke it again; I'd regained enough control over my physical urges to prevent that when I was tempted by it. But I'd been so certain the emotional hold had vanished, and I was wrong about that. I struggled with the mental temptation for a long time after. Going back to Texas with Pappy gave me a chance to wrestle with my demons on my own terms, and not Matt Langford's or opium's

I've been physically assaulted, in one way or another, too many times to count. But my battle with opium, something forced on me against my will by a man I'd considered a friend, was probably the worst fight of my life. I had no control over it; I was absolutely powerless over the drug once it got into my system. If it hadn't been for Pappy . . . I shudder to think of what would have happened. I'd probably still be in New Orleans, more than likely in a crypt above ground somewhere. There's no doubt that's where I was headed when he rescued me.

I tried to sleep when it got dark outside, but whenever I closed my eyes I saw Matthew. Even after everything he'd tried to do to me and Pappy, I couldn't forget the things that had happened to him when he was just a boy. I guess I was lucky, I didn't consciously remember most of that summer, not even after Pappy explained it all to me. But Matt did remember, and it seemed to color his entire life from then forward.

I sat awake most of the night and listened to Pappy snore. So that was where Brother Bret got it from. And when morning came I thanked God that I still had a father to listen to. We had breakfast and returned to the room, and were just about to leave for the stage when the marshal came by once more. He wanted to tell us that the coroner's report was in; Matthew was well on his way to dying from acute opium poisoning. The fate he had in mind for me, no doubt.

And that the case was closed. That was good to hear. If I ever wanted to come back to New Orleans there would be nothing hangin' over my head, or preventing me from forgettin' the whole thing. As if I could.

We took our belongings to the stage and boarded. There was no one but the two of us, and I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. We were about half way to Lafayette when Pappy cleared his throat and asked, "How about a little poker, son?"

I grinned at him. "Real poker, Pappy?"

"You know I don't play any other kind, boy," came his answer, sounding just a bit indignant.

"Yes, sir," I replied, and pulled a brand new deck out of my coat pocket. "That suits me just fine."

The End


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